


He got lost in my DMs (wanna be way more than friends)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Series: Slide into those DMs [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Online Relationship, Twitter, how to deal with fuckboys in 3 DMs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Derek is somewhat of an online hero, providing candid pictures of himself to anyone who wants persistent suitors to just go away already. Stiles... is suddenly surrounded by assholes who apparently really want to hear about how great his fake boyfriend is.





	He got lost in my DMs (wanna be way more than friends)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clotpolesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/gifts).

> Bless clotpolesonly, who came up with this prompt and let me have at it.

It was the third dick pic that finally made him boil over.

He ignored the first one, because Brandon had said it was an accident (as if, Stiles was smarter than that, easily). Even though he definitely knew better, he was happy to go along with that piece of fiction, because it wasn't like he had a lot of options and the dick in the picture wasn't completely unappetizing.  
Stiles had some standards, but he couldn't afford to have too many.

The second pic was... not well done, and came in at the dubious hour of 2:45 AM on a Thursday night, when Stiles was firmly asleep after sending in his paper at the supremely on time hour of 1:59 AM. Bless professors who didn't have that pesky midnight deadline, because Stiles did his best work at night.

So, the second pic went unappreciated because, well... Stiles had some self esteem left. He laughed it off the next morning, and then eased off a bit on the chatting because while Stiles was usually up for some fun, he didn't actually want to bang anyone in his rather small Workshop in Folkloristic Writing and Expression class. There was way too much potential for awkward with only eleven students. Flirting was nice, though, and he'd thought that Brandon understood the boundaries. Clearly, he didn't.

Because when the third pic didn't get the expected response, Brandon turned asshole, calling him a cocktease.

Which, fuck that bullshit so hard. So of course Stiles was on a mission to completely avoid Brandon the Brat in class from then on, but he still didn't have enough of a response formulated. Not one that would embarrass Brandon a little - okay, or a lot.

He scrolled through Twitter aimlessly, trying to find a decent burn, until he stumbled upon a picture of the most gorgeous guy he'd seen outside of porn.

Dark hair, broad shoulders, and green/hazel/grey/what the fuck kind of color is that eyes that stared at him judgmentally from under bushy brows. Stiles was being judged for the boner that he was definitely not getting at this very moment, but he could deal with it, because DAMN.

And then he actually started reading the thread, starting from the first tweet. Of thirty - who the fuck used threads that long? This was Twitter. Brief was kind of the point.

Anyway, the tweets. Hot Guy Derek - that was not his handle, just the nickname that Stiles had thought up for him - was offering himself up as a long distance fake boyfriend to anyone who just needed to get an asshole off their backs. Which was... surprisingly adorable.

Most of the responses were from girls who got all cute in their responses to him, some people who literally couldn't with this guy, and some "not all men" assholes. So, basically, Twitter in a nutshell.

But hey, if Stiles had permission to call Hot Guy Derek his boyfriend online, he wasn't exactly going to say no. Because well, he'd seen this guy and... out of his league wasn't enough to describe just how ridiculous he was - and apparently he was nice too and didn't use this little project as an opening line to get in with girls himself.

Stiles approved.

He didn't go through the whole thread, just grabbed photo number three, in which Derek was sitting on a couch, eyebrows raised, judging the person taking the picture. He was wearing a t-shirt that showed off those fucking biceps (JFC those were just unfair). Stiles was a little bit in love, and a lot in lust.

Boner brain was probably enough of a reason for why he sent the picture to Brandon with the captain "my boyfriend thinks I can do better". 

It took Brandon less than a minute to respond to that, with a ton of scepticism about Stiles being able to quote lock that fine ass down unquote. Which, ugh, Brandon was the worst and Stiles wanted to smack himself for even starting this stupid almost flirtation game with him after they'd worked on that class assignment together.

He was right about it being a fine ass, but that didn't mean he had to be a dick to Derek.

Picture 7, Derek flipping off the camera while wearing the same shirt, was an excellent response to Brandon's... everything. The eyebrows were even more judgy than before, and Derek was reaching for the camera with the hand that wasn't flipping off the photographer.

"Apparently I'm the only one allowed to appreciate his fine ass up close"

Stiles thought it was an excellent response, but clearly Brandon's only remaining brain cell did not agree. There were several messages, all of them about how much of a liar Stiles was and how he'd probably just taken the pics off some pornstar's personal website.

There was no way any more ready made pictures were going to convince Brandon - and the only good thing about this fucked up situation was that this gave Stiles a solid excuse to slide into those DMs.

He messaged Hot Guy Derek, explaining the situation and the pictures he'd already sent, and basically begged him to help poor old Stiles.

Not two minutes later, he got a response asking for "the asshole's name". It was curt and to the point, but Stiles had been refreshing the page nonstop, so all he cared about was that he got a response at all, one that actually seemed like Derek was going to help him out.

When the image Derek sent in response to the name loaded, Stiles snorted and then shout-laughed so loudly that he worried his neighbors were going to hate him. But it was worth it, because Derek had sent him a picture of him - shirtless too - holding a piece of paper that said "Fuck off Brandon! No one wants your crab infested noodle!" The judgment eyes and brows were back, and Stiles was duly cowed into having slightly less of a boner. But Derek was shirtless, so that didn't really last all that long.

"Sorry for the shirtlessness. I didn't have the right shirt on hand."

And smart too - that was fucking hot. So fucking hot - almost hotter than the shirtlessness. Almost.

Stiles responded with effusive compliments about Derek being a gift from the gods, and then forwarded the picture to Brandon. This time, he didn't use a caption. The picture said everything he needed to say.

Not that Brandon was silenced by it - he spilled a fuckton of disgusting vitriol about Stiles being a slut and a cocktease who'd bend over for everyone and did his boyfriend know that. Stiles had never found more joy in the block button.

Well, the next Folkloristic Writing workshop was definitely going to be interesting. In the worst way.

For Brandon anyway, because Stiles was smart enough to save some screenshots - his daddy didn't raise no fool. As a Sheriff's son, he was trained to get the evidence.

* * *

Of course there was another situation only a week or so later. Stiles had never gotten this much attention in the rest of his college career combined, and now he was being harassed by fuckboys left and center. Why were the only people who were actually into him always complete wastes of space? And air?

Well, at least he had a proper defense ready this time. He opened the same thread of pictures and took the time to look through some options before sending them to the disgustingly aggressive douche who was trying to one-up fucking Brandon. Picture 12 was his first choice this time, showing Derek in bed, wearing ratty pyjamas and with fucking glasses on his beautiful face. The title of the book he was reading was not visible in the pic, but Stiles imagined it was either something really embarrassing, or something serious in the original Russian. Or something. 

He had a lot of ideas about who Derek was as a person, and a douche to mention all of them to. 

"More entertained watching my bf read than talking to you. Srsly, I'm not interested." 

As soon as this guy got bored of hearing no - Stiles had said it about six times so far - Stiles totally was not going to jerk off to this very picture. Derek managed to make reading look hot. It was unfair, but Stiles was starting to figure out how to deal with it. 

Masturbation. A lot of masturbation. Like, "you need to buy more lube, Stiles" amounts of masturbation. 

Which he'd totally do, after tonight, and after he'd gotten rid of this asshole. Which was turning out to be a lot less easy than anticipated. Seriously, were assholes actually in the possession of intellect? Did that exist? Because apparently he'd found some. 

Well, judging by the amount of disbelief coming from this numbskull - and seriously, Stiles was starting to get offended that these guys seemed to think that he was much too plain and ugly and boring and stupid and annoying (all direct quotes) for Derek. His self-esteem had gotten a lot better since high school, but this was... a lot to deal with. 

So he bothered Derek again, because Derek had helped him last time and didn't even seem too put out about it. 

He really didn't want to go back and forth with this random douche all night. 

Derek was even more prompt this time, sending a picture right away. Once again, he was shirtless - Stiles did not mind at all, no sirree - but this time he was actually in bed, still wearing the fucking glasses (not now boner) and holding up a piece of paper. 

"Stiles is taken. By me." 

Before Stiles emptied his lube to that one, he sent it on to the douche, adding "all the time, in many different positions" as his caption, because he was the master of wishful thinking. 

At least this guy actually believed him that time - maybe because Derek mentioned Stiles' name, or because Derek's hair was all just got fucked messy (and killing Stiles so much, thanks), or just because of the murder brows. Either way, it worked as intended, and he told Derek as much (with many compliments about his everything and comments about how much Stiles owed him) before signing off for the night. 

And jerking off. Because he couldn't not now. 

* * *

By the time fucking Trent started basically stalking him, he had all twenty-eight pictures in Derek's Twitter thread, and the two private pictures he'd managed to finagle, saved in a separate folder on his phone. Yes, the folder had the less than three on it, shut the fuck up, Stiles was prepared for just about anything at this point. 

"Stiles." 

"Trent," he sighed. "Nice to see you still don't know the meaning of the word no." 

Speak of the disgusting devil. Seriously, what about Stiles said that he would in any way be interested in perpetual frat boys like Trent? It would have been like hooking up with Jackson, which... Nah. Just, nope. Not his type.

But then again, compared to Trent, he'd do Jackson in a heartbeat. 

"Hard to get," Trent was smug about it too. "It's called playing hard to get." 

If only Scott were here to sick the metaphorical dogs on this guy. That was the only good thing about his best friend being a vet in training - he had a couple attack dogs on speed dial. Mrs. Goldman's chihuahua was particularly vicious. 

"It's called I have a smoking hot boyfriend and I'm not interested in you." 

Stiles figured he might as well throw the Derek card in right away. He was over it. He just wanted to do his damn job and pour people drinks for a measly fee so that he could pay for books and curly fries. 

Hitting on someone at work? Never, never, never ever a good idea. 

"I haven't seen him around," Trent was smirking at him. 

"He has better things to do than appease your Neanderthal brain," Stiles hissed back, hoping his boss, who was at the next station, wouldn't overhear and fire him. 

Laura was a great boss, but if a customer complained about him, she'd still be forced to fire him. Even though she'd once told him he was her favorite coffee slave, and he wasn't allowed to leave her after he graduated. Which was probably why he was considering grad school more seriously than he had before - he liked his life, his job, his courses, the college life... He could do that for another two years. 

"I'd like to speak to your manager," Trent said the magic words. 

The floor dropped out from under him - if only that were literal, so that he could escape - and for a second he was tempted to say yes to a date with fucking Trent just so he wouldn't get fired. But then he realized that it was never going to be just one date if Trent tried shit like this. 

"Yes?" Laura appeared as if by magic. 

"This guy here just insulted me," Trent was pouting now, like a damn child. 

Fuck, okay, well, he had a little bit of savings so he could at least last the month. He'd be damned if he had to ask his dad for help - the Sheriff had enough on his plate without this bullshit adding to it. 

"He did," Laura nodded sagely, an ominous sparkle in her brown eyes. "And he had every right to, after the way you've been hitting on him at work, in front of his boyfriend's sister. After he said no about a million times. Yes, hyperbole, I know. But I like saying it." 

Well, Laura had always been more than a little dramatic - wait, what? He wasn't fired?

"Boyfriend's sister?"

"Blam," Laura shoved her phone in Trent's face. "Proof! Derek isn't much for public appearances, but he makes an exception for me, sometimes. When he's with Stiles, he would rather stay indoors, for some reason. We can't call that bed rest though. Stiles is ridiculously flexible." 

True - his Lydia-enforced yoga regimen had certainly paid off, but... Wait. 

Not fired and Laura knew Derek? Had he ever even mentioned Derek's name to people? He was about 99 percent sure that he'd just referred to him as his boyfriend, especially in front of people who could possibly know better. His boss being one of those people, since he often lamented his pathetically single state to her, even though he was flexible enough to... Not the point. 

"You and Travis are just as bad," Stiles shot back, because he only had one chance to nail this. 

Laura just grinned at him. "Travis isn't bad at anything. Well, maybe keeping his hands off me, but I don't blame him. I'm a fox." 

Incorrigible, that one. 

But shit, she actually knew Derek and how the fuck did that even happen? He was so bad at staying focused. 

"Stiles," an unknown voice, out of breath, almost panting. 

He looked up to find... Derek. The actual flesh and blood, live in living color Derek. Right in front of him, wearing tight jeans and a Henley and those fucking glasses, practically pushing Trent aside to get to him. Which was just... too good to be true. 

So Stiles pinched himself, and cringed because that fucking hurt and he was a wuss at his core. 

"Surprising me at work?" He tried so hard to sell it. 

"Laura texted," Derek was blushing. "She told me you had a persistent admirer. And I missed you." 

Judging by the oohs and aahs from the Peanut Gallery, they'd managed to gather quite the audience. Shit, someone was undoubtedly filming this or taking pictures or live tweeting. Well, at least his friends could witness his humiliation too. 

"Since this morning?" Stiles somehow managed to keep a conversation going. 

That just embarrassed Derek even more. "Shut up."

Fuck, he was too precious and Stiles had to have him, right away. On the counter if he had to. 

And apparently he had to, because Trent still hadn't left and apparently that was enough for Derek to lean over the counter, only to pull Stiles in for a kiss. Which was not something Stiles would protest, and so he too used his arms to pull Derek closer, not caring that he'd have bruises on his hips from pushing himself into the counter. 

Worth it. So fucking worth it. 

By the time they came up for air, Trent was gone. 

By the next time Stiles checked his Twitter, he had four new followers (all Hales) and a real boyfriend. 


End file.
